Mister Blue Eyes
by Hecticality
Summary: Lynch –era Hannibal centric one shot. Trapped with a nurse after a disaster at the VA, Hannibal has an interesting discussion.


_TITLE: Mister Blue Eyes _

_AUTHOR: Hectical_

_RATING: Rated K_

_SUMMARY: Lynch –era Hannibal centric one shot. Trapped with a nurse after a disaster at the VA, Hannibal has an interesting discussion._

_DISCLAIMER: Written for pleasure, no profit gained, The A-Team and associated concepts and characters are not my intellectual property, I'm just a big 80s nerd and Steven J Cannell is my god. You know, the usual._

He supposed, as he choked the dust out of his lungs and registered an intense kind of pain coming from his right shoulder and chest and radiating on a slow burn down to his knees, that the fact that they were trapped in here was probably his fault. He'd reacted on instinct when the building began to shake and judder dangerously, grabbing the nurse and pulling her into the nearest sheltering doorway which happened, as it turned out, to be this supply closet. She'd stumbled into the closet as the ceiling of the hallway and the floor above had avalanched in at them, grabbing his hand as they went. He remembered that – she'd grabbed his hand and hauled him after her. Which meant, he thought, that this was probably her fault. Then the shelves collapsed around them and he must have taken a crack on the head.

Whoever was at fault, Hannibal thought, as he coughed up another lungful of plaster and concrete, they were in trouble. He didn't know how extensive the damage to the building was but the door to this closet was definitely and most sincerely buried in part of the corridor of the second floor.

Los Angeles. He loved the climate, the people, the girls in bikinis, the beaches they walked on, the restaurants, the night life. He loved Hollywood. He loved the whole state of California, the San Fernando Valley, San Jose, San Francisco and all the other San places – but the San Andreas fault? Not so much. He'd survived mudslides, storms, blizzards and the occasional tornado with a smile on his face. Now he'd survived an earthquake that had tried to bury him with what felt like an entire wing of the Veterans Administration mental health ward and his smile was conspicuously absent.

Somewhere very close to him, someone groaned and swore. Gritting his teeth against the stabbing in his shoulder and side – he figured he'd probably snapped his collarbone again – he shifted his weight to lean against what felt like the wall at his back and opened his eyes. The small room was dark and the collapsed shelves loomed up around him like a shadowy palisade. A very dim glow came from a tiny, dusty window high up on one wall, giving him the outline of things and not much more. He could hear rubble shifting and dust falling and, outside the small space he was in, someone shouting in short, panicked sentences that he couldn't make out.

He coughed again, nearly crying out at the pain.

"Quit… coughing. I can… tell it hurts," someone said slowly. He forced himself to focus. The voice was female. The nurse. It came from very close by.

"You okay?" he managed with a wheeze. "Where are you? I can't see a damned thing."

"Move your left hand," she replied.

"Huh?" He flexed his hand obediently, startled to find flesh beneath it. "Gotcha."

"Lucky that's my… arm, mister." Her voice was unclear and caught like she was in pain. He patted the arm beneath his hand.

"Can you move?" he asked.

"No. I…" the voice trailed away and he squeezed her arm.

"Still with me?"

"Yeah." She sounded like she was having trouble breathing. He heard rubble shifting and the sound of fabric rubbing against concrete. "I'm stuck. Caught… under these shelves. Can you… move?"

He tried his legs. His left felt like it was pinned under the same collapse that had her trapped. His right was responsive. He bent his knee and felt something heavy slide off it but managed to bring it up and lever a little weight onto it. Not that it made much of a difference.

"Sorry sister, feels like I'm stuck under the same rubbish as you."

He heard her cough then felt her arm twitch and flex under his hand. He felt along it to where her hand was trapped under his leg. He lifted himself enough to let her slide it out, gritting his teeth against the pain in his right side which was rapidly turning into something approaching agony.

"Thanks," she murmured. He felt her fingers come to rest on his.

"What's your name?" he asked. It occurred to him that he should probably ask, even as his brain was recovering enough to worry about bigger things. Like getting them out of this pile of crap and wondering if there was something he could be doing to his shoulder.

"Isobel," she said. "Isobel Vale. I'm the ward… manager here."

"John," he replied, squinting into the dim light.

"Ah." She sounded like he'd told her something she already knew. Hannibal decided to let that one slide for now.

"Alright Isobel," he said, "I think I've broken my collarbone. I'm not going to be much use to help you here."

"I thought… you'd hurt yourself," she replied. "Somewhere in… this mess is a whole box of Ace bandages and another of slings. Help… yourself."

Hannibal allowed himself a grim smile. "Thanks – but the words needle, haystack and trapped under heavy things come to mind."

"Suit yourself." He thought he caught a smile in her tone and decided on the spot that he might like Isobel Vale.

"Try to keep your arm… close to your body. Are you wearing a vest under… your shirt?"

He shook his head automatically then took a moment as the motion caused a swampy wave of pain to render him nauseous.

"Nope, t-shirt today. No shirt," he managed through gritted teeth. He knew his voice was wavering and he hated it. He'd broken his collarbone once before, the same side, and was glad for the anonymity of the darkness. It gave him cover and meant that Isobel couldn't see his face, which felt clammy and cold. He knew he could function. He'd gotten through worse situations than this with more severe injuries – but right now he was glad that he didn't have to do anything other than sit on the floor and not throw up.

"Are you injured?" he asked. It was a moment before she replied. He heard slight sounds of movement again.

"I think so. My ribs on my left side. Also… pinned. Got a big weight… on my chest and my legs are twisted… over something hard. Hang on…"

Hannibal felt something move on his left thigh.

"Did you just move your leg?" he asked. She did it again.

"Well this is… intimate," she said, her voice catching and wheezing. He felt her hand grope for his, and he took it and squeezed. "Holding hands in the dark, legs all… tangled."

"Yeah, sure," he said grimly, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes again. "All we need is some candles and a bottle of red."

"Well don't you know how to show… a girl a good time."

For a long moment neither of them spoke. Hannibal controlled his breathing as a bulwark against the pain and considered the situation. With his leg pinned and his collarbone broken there was realistically not much he could to free them. He knew that rescue would be on the way. Face and BA had been waiting for him outside and Murdock knew he would be coming by today – assuming the man's quarters had not also been damaged by the quake. Regardless, more official rescuers would probably be mobilising even now. All he had to do was wait.

"How long til… they dig us out, do you think?" Isobel asked in the darkness.

"Probably not long," he replied truthfully. "Unless the damage to the building here is worse than I think it is."

"What we need is your… handsome friend to come and find… you," she said. "He seems like the… type who would."

Hannibal froze and felt his scalp prickle and his eyes widen in the gloom. "My handsome friend?"

Isobel didn't reply for a moment. When she did she sounded amused. "We call him Mr Blue Eyes on the ward," she said. "Captain Murdock has not… been forthcoming with his real … name."

"Oh." How did she know about Face? Had Murdock been rambling? He mentally shook his head. It was always possible – with Murdock anything was possible – but more likely that Nurse Isobel Vale was a military plant. He sighed. "Like that is it?"

"Like what?" She sounded wary.

"What branch of the military are you?" he asked wearily. "If Lynch planted you here then I won't say Military Intelligence. That taxes the term _oxymoron_ far too much. You with the MPs?"

She didn't reply immediately. When she did she sounded confused.

"I'm the ward… manager. I'm a nurse not an MP. Do you… often think the MPs are after you?"

"The MPs _are_ often after me, lady," he said crisply. "And your innocent act doesn't cut it."

"John," she said, "please believe me, I'm just a nurse. I know… about your friend because of all the times he… spirits Captain Murdock away from the hospital."

"Yeah, sure." Hannibal closed his eyes again. Obviously the VA wasn't safe any more. They'd always known this would be an obvious place for surveillance, which was why they'd gone to such pains to minimise contact with Murdock while he was here. They'd just been lucky up to this point that Lynch hadn't effectively arrived at the same conclusion. Face was the most frequent visitor and then only to spring the pilot for a job.

Hannibal come here himself today on a simple visit. Murdock had seemed crazier than usual last time they spoke and he'd wanted to drop in and make sure the man wasn't skating too close to the edge again. He hadn't even bothered with a disguise. It had been a while since they'd caught the scent of pursuit.

_Stupid, Hannibal, stupid and over-confident._

He heard rubble shift again. Isobel groaned softly and he felt her moving.

"John?"

"Yeah."

"These shelves… are getting pretty heavy."

"Nothing I can do, sorry sister."

He heard her breath catch. "I swear that I'm… not military."

He thought for a moment. "Say I believe you. Tell me what you know about my friend."

"Mr Blue Eyes," she said after a minute. He was conscious of a tightness in her voice and when her hand found his again he took it. Couldn't hurt, after all.

"He's mighty nice to look at," she said. "Thinks… on his feet. Needs to change up his routine more. I checked Captain… Murdock's records and he definitely doesn't have three dead… grandmothers."

Hannibal stifled an involuntary chuckle. He'd pass that on. Perhaps they had all been getting a little complacent.

He heard another shout and the sound of scratching from outside the closet, fairly close by his reckoning.

"Hear that?" she asked.

"Yeah, hopefully not too much longer in here."

"You still think I'm here to spy on you don't you?" she asked. "You should be thanking me."

He was taken aback. "Why?"

"Doctors never pay… enough attention. They're easily fooled… by tiny things. Nurses? We don't miss much." He felt her shift again and squeezed her hand. She coughed and continued. "I'm not the only permanent sta… staff member here to notice how often your man comes by. Same face, different… hat."

Hannibal glowered in the darkness. "Your point?"

"You helped my… sister last year, I think, maybe. She had some troubles with her ex-husband. Janet Corrigan. … Mendocino."

Hannibal thought, recalled the job. In addition to everything else, his head began to throb where something had hit it. "Was she having trouble with a property developer?"

"Yeah. That's her. She's living… in Calistoga now. She's remarried… and doing pretty well, thanks to you, if you… are who I think you are."

Hannibal didn't reply at once. _Tread carefully._ "Just who do you think I am?"

"I don't want you to tell… me, John. Mystery also… means deniability." She sounded firm, despite the wheeze in her voice. "But if you are who… I think you are, thanks."

"Uh… okay." She could still be a plant. He couldn't remember what she looked like but she sounded young enough to be intended as a honey trap for his lieutenant. Or his pilot. It was entirely possible that Lynch had caught up with this Janet Corrigan and gotten the story out of her.

"I can hear you… thinking," Isobel said at length. "You still… think I'm a plant."

"Could be," he admitted. "At this point in time I guess it doesn't really matter."

"I've issued a standing, unwritten… order to the permanent staff," she said slowly, "that your friend Mr Blue Eyes is to …be allowed to take Captain Murdock whenever… he comes by."

"That was generous," Hannibal said, still trying to figure out her angle. "But he won't be coming by any more."

"Oh," she wheezed, sounding unhappy. " Don't do that. We… do enjoy looking… at him."

"That so?"

"Of course. Besides – look at it… it as training. We're providing your man… with an obstacle course to hone… his skills." She paused. "But he does need some new lines."

She went silent and Hannibal thought he heard a change in her breathing.

"Isobel?" He squeezed her hand. "Still with me?"

It seemed like a long time before she replied. "Yeah… Shelves getting… very heavy."

He felt up her arm to her shoulder. It was at the limit of his reach. The pain and nausea that he had been managing to shove to the back of his conscious thought burned through to the front again as he moved and he groaned involuntarily and swore. Her uniform was gritty with dust and he felt what seemed like a tonne of metal shelving components on top of her body. His hand came away slightly damp and he sniffed his fingers cautiously.

_Blood._

"Isobel," he said slowly. "I think you're bleeding."

"Me too," she wheezed, a new wet overtone to the sound. "Inside and … out... Nothing… to be done about it…. How's your… collarbone?"

"Nothing to be done about it," he replied. Plant or not, he did like her, he decided.

"Talk to me," she said. "Keep me… awake, John."

He sighed. "So… new routines?"

"We're getting… budget cut," she replied, her voice fainter than it had been. "I need to use… casual staff. Can't… order them to play along… Mister Blue… can't… control them…"

"I'll pass that on." He didn't like the way her voice was catching and dimming. "Do you really think he's so handsome?"

"Mhm…" she sounded amused, despite the tightness in her tone. "Very nice… Not… my type though… A little… young…"

Hannibal fought back a wave of nausea. He heard movement very close to where he guessed the blocked doorway might be.

"So what is your type then?" he asked, distracted, concentrating on interpreting what he was hearing. Was it rubble being moved? God, he hoped so. Isobel didn't reply. He squeezed her hand.

"Isobel?" he said sharply. "Talk to me. What is your type?"

She made an incomprehensible reply and coughed painfully. He thought her cough sounded too wet for his liking.

"Stay awake," he ordered. "I can hear digging. Rescue's on its way."

"Uh huh…" she sounded sleepy, slow.

"Isobel, listen to me," he said quickly. "When we get out of this I'm taking you for a drink, military or not. Red wine, candles, the whole shebang. But you have to stay awake for me. Breathe. Concentrate."

He felt her fingers stir slightly in his. "John," she said, her voice muffled, "if I weren't… happy… happily married… you might live… to regret… that off…offer…"

The sounds from the doorway were becoming louder and clearer.

"In here!" he called, the effort making the burning and nausea return and radiate clear through to his toes.

"Hold on," he heard someone call. It sounded oddly like Face. "We're coming."

"Hear that?" he said to Isobel. "Almost there."

There was no reply. Her fingers in his were limp but he could hear her breathing. It was uneven and wet, but there.

"John..." she murmured. "Can't… breathe right… now…"

"Hurry up!" he called toward the doorway. "Bring a medic!" He squeezed her fingers gently. "Hold on, now. Just keep breathing. My men are almost here."

He couldn't tell how much time passed then. He sat unmoving, his hand resting on Isobel's still one, his mouth dry and his skin gritty, riding waves of pain. The measly light from the window seemed to dim and the air grow close and hot. He listened to Isobel breathe and rubble being shifted away from the door and he waited.

When a shaft of light pierced the gloom it almost blinded him. The door of the closet shrieked in protest as it was pulled open.

"Hannibal?" he heard Face call. "You alive in here?"

"Barely," he said with a grimace. "I need a medic. Got a nurse here needs attention."

Hannibal heard Face starting to move the pieces of collapsed shelving and heard Murdock's voice faintly, coming closer as he spoke.

"… got the Colonel in there?"

"Take the other end of this from Murdock, BA," he heard Face say, and felt a weight lift off him as the large unit that had him and Isobel pinned began to move.

"Careful," he said. "Nurse Vale is bleeding internally."

"Yup." He heard BA grunt as he held the heavy metal shelves up while Face slid in underneath them. His lieutenant was wearing a hard hat with "LA Eng. Corp." stencilled across the front and a reflective vest.

"Well hello Mister Blue Eyes," Hannibal drawled, relieved beyond belief to see him. Face gave him a strange look.

"Get hit on the head there, Hannibal?" He ran assessing hands down the prone body of Isobel Vale and gently hooked them under her arms. In the light from the doorway, Hannibal saw Isobel open her eyes and look weakly up at Face.

"City Engineers, ma'am," he said crisply. Hannibal thought he saw a ghost of a smile cross her dusty face.

"Of course… you… are…"

Face looked to Hannibal, who nodded, then began to pull her away, toward the door. With her weight off his leg, Hannibal felt the welcome rush of pins and needles as sensation returned. He flexed it and smiled. So now he'd come though an earthquake. Still wearing his smile, he began to slide himself across the floor after them, offering his good arm to Murdock who hauled him out into the light.

_NB: Usually not such a fan of OCs, especially female ones in a male-centric canon like TAT, but this bugged at me until I had to write it down :)_


End file.
